Playing Dirty (Sydney Smoke Rugby)

by Amy Andrews

Kyle muffled his laughter into her neck. “You said hurry.”

  “I do like a man who can follow directions.” She was smiling, he could hear it in her voice.

  “Fast, slow, multiple, tantric. Orgasms delivered just the way you want them.”

  “Mmm.” She practically purred her approval. “I like the sound of multiple.”

  “Then I’m your man.” Kyle’s arms tightened around her. He didn’t want anyone else giving her orgasms. “Not sure we have time for it right now.”

  “No.” She sighed, then pushed off him, and Kyle groaned as he slipped from her body. He tried to grab her, but she stepped away, shimmying the fringe of her skirt back down to her ankles. “Wait a few minutes before you come downstairs,” she said, keeping her voice down.

  Kyle was going to need a few minutes before he could stand without falling on his ass. But the last thing he wanted to do was go back and face the team and the WAGs and make more polite conversation.

  “We need to talk.” He also kept his voice low.

  She nodded. “I know.”

  “You do?”

  She fluffed her hair, although he wasn’t sure it would help. Even in the darkened room, her mouth had that kind of crushed look that told everyone it had been thoroughly kissed.

  “I’ll come back to your place after. If that’s okay?”

  Okay? It sounded perfect. He’d been fantasising about seeing the splash of copper hair across his sheets again for a month now.

  After they’d talked.

  “Of course.”

  “Good.” She nodded, then bent and kissed him, quick and hard. “Don’t forget to tuck your junk away before you come down.” She smiled at him as she stepped back, then sashayed out of the room.

  Christ. How could she even walk, let alone sashay?

  He looked down at himself, his fly open, his flaccid dick lying there, recovering from the tornado that had ravaged it, grateful that at least she had the forethought to protect them. He’d been so desperate to get inside her, he wasn’t sure he’d have stopped for practicalities.

  But she’d come upstairs with no bag, which meant this sneak attack on his person had been fully premeditated. She’d lured him up here—condom secured on her person somewhere—expressly to have her way with him.

  He grinned. She was pure fucking evil temptress. Which only made him like her even more.

  He sat forward, his gaze falling on a neatly made bed, and hoped like hell he hadn’t just debauched the coach’s daughter—although he was pretty sure she’d done the debauching—in the skipper’s bedroom.

  Under Tanner’s roof. Under his very nose.

  Christ. He was losing his mind. Who knew going mad would be this fucking awesome?

  It was midnight when she knocked on his door. He’d been home for over an hour. Waiting. No one had seemed particularly bothered when he’d announced his departure. In fact, they’d all seemed relieved. And Val’s aloof little goodbye nod, like she hadn’t pushed him in a chair and ridden him like a mechanical bull an hour before, could have won her an Academy Award.

  He’d known she hadn’t been able to follow immediately—that would only have aroused suspicion—but man…anticipation thrummed through his blood, and his dick was rock hard just knowing she was on the other side of his door.

  Kyle took a steadying breath as he reached for the deadlock. He’d made up his mind while he’d waited that he wanted something with Val. That there was something between them he wanted to explore further. And to hell with the consequences.

  So, whatever else happened here tonight, they needed to get that out first. To talk about it. He needed to know she was on the same page, too. It wasn’t, after all, just him that could suffer blowback if they entered a relationship. Flouting Griff’s rules could make things worse between her and her father, and he didn’t want that—it was bad enough without Kyle becoming a bone of contention between them.

  It was why he was still fully clothed. Even if his dick was trying to bust out of his underwear.

  His resolve, however, took a major hit as the door swung open, and she stood there, smiling a very dirty smile. “I was hoping you might be naked,” she said as she lounged against the frame, her gaze roaming over him in a very thorough eye fucking.

  He chuckled. “Talk first.”

  But all his good intentions dissolved on a cloud of pheromones as she pushed inside, her hand landing on his chest and sliding around his neck as her body pressed into his. A burst of vanilla flooded his senses, and he groaned as his hand cupped her jaw and his mouth meshed with hers, desperate to taste her again. It felt like an age since he had, and he needed his fix.

  Val King was going to be seriously addictive.

  She rubbed herself against him, moaning as the juncture of her thighs rode the granite ridge of his cock. The sensation was like a taser to his groin, and Kyle wanted nothing more than to pull her to the ground and fuck her into the floorboards, but they needed to talk.

  He reached beyond the greed of his dick and the urgent thrum of his heart for restraint.

  And sanity.

  “Stop.” His voice was thick and low in his throat as he pulled out of the kiss, every cell in his body protesting the stupidity. He was breathing heavily as he grasped her biceps and held her at arm’s length. She pushed against his bonds, reaching for him, but he shook his head. “We talk first.”

  She pouted at him, then rolled her eyes. “Okay.” She held her arms up in a surrender motion, and he released her arms. “You talk.” She kicked the door shut behind her, grasped the hem of her Smoke jersey, and whipped it off, throwing it at his feet. “I’m just going to get out of these clothes.”

  Kyle’s breath left him in a husky rush as her bare breasts confronted him, her pale nipples puckering at the exposure. “Oh. Jesus.”

  An eyebrow quirked at him as she reached behind to the back of her skirt. “You were saying?”

  He liked how the movement thrust her chest out a little. How it jiggled her breasts. His mouth watered. But he ignored it. And the almost overwhelming urge to take two paces, sink to his knees, and suck those nipples like lollipops.

  He held out a hand in a stopping motion. “Don’t take your skirt off.”

  “Or what?” Her zip lowering was loud in the charged silence between them.

  Kyle swallowed. “Val.”

  She shimmied, and the skirt slithered to the ground, exposing long, pale thighs, slim hips, flat belly, and a scrap of pale pink lace almost the exact shade of her nipples. She was a fucking wet dream, and his body throbbed with the need to possess.

  How could he think straight with her stripping in front of him?

  She hooked her thumbs in the sides of her underwear. “Let’s talk later.” She ran her thumbs teasingly along the lacy edge of her underwear, smiling a smile that would have been perfectly at home in the Garden of Eden. “After.”

  She stripped her underwear off her legs, effortlessly performing the kind of bend it usually took a decade of yoga to perfect. Her flaming hair fell forward briefly before she was upright again and naked as the day she was born.

  Kyle gawped at her like he was fifteen and she was his first naked centrefold—he couldn’t not. Fuck, she was beautiful. And she wanted him. Desire ran hot through his blood, but something else, something more powerful, swelled in his chest, paralysing him.

  She took a step toward him. Then another and another until their bodies were separated by a whisper of air. “You want to talk, or do you want a blow job?”

  Kyle’s brain, drowning in heat and hormones, grappled with his choices. Was that some kind of trick question? Because talk said no man ever. Especially in the presence of a naked, willing woman. But it appeared to be rhetorical, anyway, as she dropped to her knees, her fingers making short work of his belt and fly. His determination to talk dissolved into thin air as her hand slid onto his cock.

  His stomach muscles jerked, his breath sucked in harsh and quick at her firm, confident grip. The
sight of her completely naked on her knees before him, looking up at him with that Garden of Eden smile, almost buckled his own knees.

  Still watching him, she nuzzled her lips against the domed head of his dick, and Kyle locked his knees tight as he sunk his hands into her hair for purchase.

  “I love your cock,” she whispered against the taut, flushed head, their gazes locking as she gripped his thighs, opened her mouth, and sunk her lips down the length of his shaft.

  Kyle cried out at the surge of heat and pleasure washing from his thighs to his throat and back again, her mouth hot and wet and perfect, sucking and licking, her tongue swirling around his shaft, circling his head as she pulled off, one hand coming up to grab hard and good and perfect at the base of his cock.

  “Fuuuuck.”

  He groaned, battling to keep his eyes from rolling back, desperate to watch her pleasuring him. To watch her watch him as she sucked him off. Everything throbbed and pounded. His groin, his balls, his temples. Blood surged through his chest and his belly and his ears, beating like a drum at a pagan ritual as he gave himself up to the pleasure of her mouth.

  And she didn’t fuck around with fancy teasing moves, she just sucked. Good and hard, laving his cock with her tongue, taking him in as far as she could before pulling almost all the way off, then sucking him back in again.

  Her gaze never leaving his face.

  There was something deeply satisfying about watching his cock part her lips, watching them stretch and darken, watching the sheen of moisture lubricating the glide as she worked him. Watching it affect her was even better—the dilation of her pupils, the glitter of sexual excitement in her eyes, and the heavy flush of arousal on her cheeks. His hand tightened to a fist in her hair at the sight of her.

  He’d had his fair share of BJs, but never like this. Never where the woman’s pleasure in the act was a bigger turn-on than his own. Watching Val get off on it made this so much more than physical.

  It was intimate in a way it had never been before.

  A pull in his buttocks spread to his balls and buzzed through the base of his spine, growing bigger and deeper and more intense on a tidal wave of sensation. It trembled through his thighs, shook through his arms, and squeezed his ribs until he could barely breathe.

  He knew he was making guttural, growly noises, but was powerless to stop them as his orgasm flared like a flame doused in accelerant. “Val.”

  Her pupils dilated further, and his fist tightened in her hair. She sucked faster, harder, dug her fingers into his thigh a little deeper, catapulting him to the crescendo and pushing him over.

  He came. Hard. Harder than he’d ever come before. Not something he’d have thought possible, considering he’d spilled his load a couple of hours ago. But it felt like the orgasm had been ripped from his very soul as he thrust deep into her mouth.

  She took all of him, her throat moving convulsively as she swallowed, her nostrils flaring, her lips clamped tight. And she stayed with him until the end, the hot slide of her mouth prolonging his pleasure.

  Kyle gasped for air as his climax ebbed, releasing the vice around his ribs and loosening his hand in her hair. “Fuck,” he muttered as all his muscles seemed to lose their ability to hold him upright, and he sagged in the middle a little.

  The bobbing of her head slowed then stopped as she pulled off him. Triumph flushed her cheeks as she thoughtfully pulled his underwear back into place.

  “Now,” she said, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes, “we can talk.”

  Kyle was seeing spots, and his pulse still throbbed too loud in his ears to hear himself think. He sure as shit had other things he wanted to do to her first.

  “Fuck that.” He didn’t know where he got the strength from—his legs felt about as substantial as blades of grass—but he hauled her up into his arms, grunting in satisfaction as her ankles automatically locked around his waist.

  Then he kissed her, tasting himself on her lips as he strode toward his bedroom.

  Chapter Ten

  Prior to meeting Kyle, Val couldn’t remember the last time she’d ever been this satisfied, but it seemed like every time with him topped the previous. If he was something she’d bought on Amazon, she’d give him five freaking stars. It was two in the morning, but she didn’t care. And, thankfully, the bakery didn’t open on Sundays.

  She was currently lying on her stomach, her lower half pressed to the mattress, her upper half draped over him, her fist planted in the centre of his chest, her chin propped on top as she gazed down at him.

  He was lying with one hand tucked behind his head, and Val sighed as his finger traced over her shoulder, up her neck, across her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose.

  “Your freckles are sexy.”

  His voice was all low and rumbly, and her belly twisted despite his absurd statement. She’d been told her freckles were cute before, but never sexy.

  She snorted. “About as sexy as halitosis.”

  His abs rippled as he laughed. “It’s true.”

  “I hate them.”

  He shook his head. “I want to kiss every one of them.”

  “Well, settle in, then. It’ll take you a while.”

  “And that’s a negative how?”

  Val smiled as she thought about where those lips might end up. Yeah. She couldn’t see any negatives. If only she’d known at the age of eight they were going to bring her such pleasure one day, she might not have subjected herself to the toad therapy a kid called Brian Humphries had touted as a cure.

  She still shuddered thinking about it, all these years later.

  “And your hair.” His gaze roved around her head as his fingers played with the ends of a lock brushing her shoulder. God knew what it looked like after two hours of debauchery. “It’s glorious. The most stunning titian colour.”

  Val blinked. “Titian?”

  What the fuck? Her heart beat a crazy tango in her chest at Kyle’s self-deprecating smile. “He was a renaissance painter.”

  “I know who he was.”

  “Ah.” He smiled at her. “You’re surprised I know who he was?”

  “Well yeah…a little.”

  “Are you saying I’m some dumb jock?”

  His voice was still deliciously rumbly, and his fingers drew lazy patterns along her collarbones, so she didn’t think he was too offended. “I’m saying I don’t know too many dudes who know their renaissance painters.”

  He smiled. “My mother took all five of us kids to the national art gallery to get some culture when I was fourteen. Now, we were a bunch of bogans from the western suburbs, loud and uncouth, so I don’t really blame the people at the gallery for treating us like we were casing the joint, but they had a hard time removing me from the visiting Titian exhibition. I can still remember staring at all the glorious ranga chicks he’d painted.”

  Val smiled at the affectionate Aussie term for a redhead. “Are you sure it was the hair and not their…how shall I put this…lack of clothing?”

  He laughed, and the rumble vibrated through her hand. “He did like them naked.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, you noticed?”

  “Are you kidding? I was a teenage boy.” He grinned as he rubbed the lock of her hair between his fingers. “I got a hard-on seeing the occasional flash of side boob. Those paintings were like a wet dream. But I remember the hair, too.”

  Val laughed, not quite believing she was talking about Titian at two in the morning with a pro rugby player, although god knew, he could have easily been the subject of an artist’s brush. Or maybe a sculptor’s clay? The lights had been dimmed, but she could make out every sexy feature of his face. Not even the gap in his teeth or his crooked nose ruined its classic perfection.

  His jaw had darkened with five o’clock shadow, and she stroked her finger along it, goose bumps spreading up her arm at the slight roughness there. “You don’t do stubble,” she murmured, watching the movement of her finger. “You’re always very clean-shaven.”
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  Beards and scruff were in—hadn’t he heard? It seemed every rugby payer she knew sported some kind of designer stubble or other. And she was quite partial to it herself. The way it rubbed in interesting places during the sexy times was a definite plus.

  He lifted her finger from his jaw and kissed it before holding it against his chest. “Nope.”

  “Because you like to shave?”

  He stared at her for long moments, and Val thought he wasn’t going to answer for a while. “Because I grew up in a family of mullets and tats and bushranger beards and I’m reverse rebelling.”

  His words were light, but there seemed to be a lot more behind that statement, and Val dithered a bit as to whether or not to push. An image of Kyle’s cokehead cousin who made all the headlines last year came to mind—shaggy hair, scruffy beard. But hell, it wasn’t like he hadn’t been privy to all her dirty baggage.

  “Is this because of Danny?”

  He didn’t freeze or shut down he just nodded slowly. “Partly. I love my family but they’re a big, loud, unruly bunch, and a handful of them do tend have a bad rep due to their…casual interpretation of the laws of the land.”

  “And you need to prove you’re the clean skin?”

  “Something like that.”

  Val let that sink in. She knew there’d been stuff in the past to do with Kyle’s extended family that had put him on the front page, but she’d never been one much for gossip. She, more than anyone, knew what it felt like to be a public curiosity through no fault of your own.

  Knew how mud stuck, and nothing was off-limits as far as the media was concerned.

  “They’re not all bad,” he hastened to assure her. “Just—”

  Val slid a finger to his mouth to stop him trying to justify things to her. It wasn’t any of her business. “Families are complicated.”

  His eyes locked with hers as he said, “Amen to that.” His lips tickled her finger and she withdrew it, smiling at him, and they stared at each other for long moments. “I don’t want to give this up.” He raised his hand to push back the slice of hair that had fallen forward over her face. “Give you up.”